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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


A MINOR  POET,  AND  OTHER  VERSE. 
THE  ROMANCE  OF  A SHOP  ( A Novel). 
REUBEN  SACHS  (A  Novel). 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/londonplanetree01levy 


/fffb 

/ _ 

A London  Plane-Tree 

n 

and  other  Verse* 

Jjy 

AMY  LEVY 


CAMEO 

SERIES 


FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK.  MDCCCXCI. 


sv/ . r? 

L 6 6 £ Z_ 


The  proofs  of  this  volume  were  corrected 
by  the  Author  about  a week  before  her  death . 


Mine  is  an  urban  Muse , and  bouna 
By  some  strange  law  to  paven  ground. 

AUSTIN  DOBSON, 


To  Clementina  Black 


More  blest  than  was  of  old  Diogenes , 

I have  not  held  my  lantern  up  in  vain. 

Not  mine , at  least , this  evil — to  complain: 

“ There  is  none  hottest  among  all  of  these.” 

Our  hopes  go  down  that  sailed  before  the  breeze; 
Our  creeds  upoti  the  rock  are  rent  in  twain ; 
Something  it  is,  if  at  the  last  remain 
One  doating  spar  cast  up  by  hungry  seas. 

The  secret  of  our  being,  who  can  tell? 

To  praise  the  gods  and  Fate  is  tiot  my  part; 
Evil  I see,  and  pain;  within  my  heart 
There  is  no  voice  that  whispers : “ All  is  well.” 

Yet  fair  are  days  in  summer;  and  more  fair 
The  growths  of  human  goodness  here  and  there. 


Contents 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


PAGE 


A London  Plane-Tree 

. 

17 

London  in  July 

. 

18 

A March  Day  in  London 

19 

Ballade  of  an  Omnibus  . 

. 21 

Ballade  of  a Special  Edition  . 

Straw  in  the  Street . \ 

23 

Between  the  Showers 
Out  of  Town  . 

Roundels  . 

• 25-27 

The  Piano- Organ  . 

. 

28 

London  Poets  . 

.... 

29 

The  Village  Garden 

. 

30 

re,  Dreams,  and  Death. 

New  Lose,  New  Life 

35 

Lmpotens  . . 

• • • • 

36 

Youth  and  Lcrve 

• • • • 

37 

The  Dream  . 

■ 38 

On  the  Threshold  . 

. 

39 

The  Birch-  Tree  at  Loschwitz  . . . 

40 

In  the  Night . 

• • • • 

41 

Borderland  . 

• • • • 

42 

IO 


Contents. 


PAGE 

At  Dawn 43 

Last  Words 44 

June 46 

A Reminiscence  ......  47 

The  Sequel  to  “ A Reminiscence  ” . . . 48 

In  the  Mile  End  Road 50 

Contradictions 51 

Twilight 52 

In  September . . . . . . . 53 

Moods  and  Thoughts. 

The  Old  House 57 

Lohengrin  .......  58 

Alma  Mater 59 

In  the  Black  Forest 6 1 

Captivity  .......  62 

The  Two  Terrors 64 

The  Promise  of  Sleep 65 

The  Last  Judgment  .....  66 

Felo  de  Se  . . . . . . . 68 

The  Lost  Friend  71 

Cambridge  in  the  Long  . . . . . 72 

To  Vernon  Lee .74 

The  Old  Poet  ......  75 

On  the  Wye  in  May  . . . . . 77 

Oh,  is  it  Love? 78 

In  the  Nower  ......  79 

The  End  of  the  Day 80 


Contents. 


II 


Odds  and  Ends. 

PAGE 

Songs  from  The  New  Phaon  ( unpublished ) — 


I.  A Wall-flower  . 

. • • 85 

2.  The  First  Extra 

86 

3.  At  a Dinner  Party  . 

. . . 87 

Philosophy  .... 

88 

A Game  of  Lawn  Tennis 

. . . 90 

To  E 

* . . 91 

Illustrations. 


'fa 


A London  Plane-Tree  : The 
Temple  Church. 

By  J.  Bernard  Partridge.  Frontispiece. 

Odds  and  Ends.  By  J.  Bernard 
Partridge. 


Facing p.  83. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


17 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


n REEN  is  the  plane-tree  in  the  square, 
^ The  other  trees  are  brown  ; 

They  droop  and  pine  for  country  air ; 
The  plane-tree  loves  the  town. 

Here  from  my  garret-pane,  I mark 
The  plane-tree  bud  and  blow, 

Shed  her  recuperative  bark, 

And  spread  her  shade  below. 

Among  her  branches,  in  and  out, 

The  city  breezes  play ; 

The  dun  fog  wraps  her  round  about  ; 
Above,  the  smoke  curls  grey. 

Others  the  country  take  for  choice, 

And  hold  the  town  in  scorn  ; 

But  she  has  listened  to  the  voice 
On  city  breezes  borne. 


i8 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


London  in  July. 

•Sg 

Y\( HAT  ails  my  senses  thus  to  cheat? 

“ “ What  is  it  ails  the  place, 

That  all  the  people  in  the  street 
Should  wear  one  woman’s  face  ? 

The  London  trees  are  dusty-brown 
Beneath  the  summer  sky ; 

My  love,  she  dwells  in  London  town, 

Nor  leaves  it  in  July. 

O various  and  intricate  maze, 

Wide  waste  of  square  and  street ; 

Where,  missing  through  unnumbered  days, 
We  twain  at  last  may  meet ! 

And  who  cries  out  on  crowd  and  mart  ? 
Who  prates  of  stream  and  sea  ? 

The  summer  in  the  city’s  heart — 

That  is  enough  for  me. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


19 


A March  Day  in  London. 


’’THE  east  wind  blows  in  the  street  to-day  ; 

The  sky  is  blue,  yet  the  town  looks  grey. 
’Tis  the  wind  of  icej  the  wind  of  fire, 

Of  cold  despair  and  of  hot  desire, 

Which  chills  the  flesh  to  aches  and  pains, 
And  sends  a fever  through  all  the  veins. 


From  end  to  end,  with  aimless  feet, 

All  day  long  have  I paced  the  street. 

My  limbs  are  weary,  but  in  my  breast 
Stirs  the  goad  of  a mad  unrest. 

I would  give  anything  to  stay 

The  little  wheel  that  turns  in  my  brain  ; 

The  little  wheel  that  turns  all  day, 

That  turns  all  night  with  might  and  main. 

What  is  the  thing  I fear,  and  why  ? 

Nay,  but  the  world  is  all  awry — 

The  wind’s  in  the  east,  the  sun’s  in  the  sky 


20 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


The  gas-lamps  gleam  in  a golden  line  ; 
The  ruby  lights  of  the  hansoms  shine, 
Glance,  and  flicker  like  fire-flies  bright 
The  wind  has  fallen  with  the  night, 
And  once  again  the  town  seems  fair 
Thwart  the  mist  that  hangs  i’  the  air. 

And  o’er,  at  last,  my  spirit  steals 
A weary  peace ; peace  that  conceals 
Within  its  inner  depths  the  grain 
Of  hopes  that  yet  shall  flower  again. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


21 


Ballade  of  an  Omnibus. 


To  see  my  love  suffices  me. 

— Ballades  in  Blue  China. 


QOME  men  to  carriages  aspire  ; 

On  some  the  costly  hansoms  wait  ; 
Some  seek  a fly,  on  job  or  hire  ; 

Some  mount  the  trotting  steed,  elate. 

I envy  not  the  rich  and  great, 

A wandering  minstrel,  poor  and  free, 

I am  contented  with  my  fate — 

An  omnibus  suffices  me. 


In  winter  days  of  rain  and  mire 
I find  within  a corner  strait  ; 

The  ’busmen  know  me  and  my  lyre 
From  Brompton  to  the  Bull-and-Gate. 
When  summer  comes,  I mount  in  state 
The  topmost  summit,  whence  I see 
Croesus  look  up,  compassionate — 

An  omnibus  suffices  me. 


22 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


I mark,  untroubled  by  desire, 
Lucullus’  phaeton  and  its  freight. 
The  scene  whereof  I cannot  tire, 

The  human  tale  of  love  and  hate, 
The  city  pageant,  early  and  late 
Unfolds  itself,  rolls  by,  to  be 
A pleasure  deep  and  delicate. 

An  omnibus  suffices  me. 

Princess,  your  splendour  you  requite, 

I,  my  simplicity ; agree 

Neither  to  rate  lower  nor  higher. 

An  omnibus  suffices  me. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


23 


Ballade  of  a Special  Edition. 


TIE  comes  ; I hear  him  up  the  street — 
A 1 Bird  of  ill  omen,  flapping  wide 
The  pinion  of  a printed  sheet, 

His  hoarse  note  scares  the  eventide. 

Of  slaughter,  theft,  and  suicide 
He  is  the  herald  and  the  friend ; 

Now  he  vociferates  with  pride — 

A double  murder  in  Mile  End  ! 


A hanging  to  his  soul  is  sweet  ; 

His  gloating  fancy ’s  fain  to  bide 
Where  human-freighted  vessels  meet, 
And  misdirected  trains  collide. 

With  Shocking  Accidents  supplied, 

He  tramps  the  town  from  end  to  end. 
How  often  have  we  heard  it  cried — 

A double  murder  in  Mile  End. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


H 


War  loves  he  ; victory  or  defeat, 

So  there  be  loss  on  either  side. 

His  tale  of  horrors  incomplete, 
Imagination’s  aid  is  tried. 

Since  no  distinguished  man  has  died, 

And  since  the  Fates,  relenting,  send 

No  great  catastrophe,  he’s  spied 
This  double  murder  in  Mile  End. 

Fiend,  get  thee  gone  ! no  more  repeat 
Those  sounds  which  do  mine  ears  offend. 

It  is  apocryphal,  you  cheat, 

Your  double  murder  in  Mile  End. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


2 5 


Straw  in  the  Street. 

m 

QTRAW  in  the  street  where  I pass  to-day 
^ Dulls  the  sound  of  the  wheels  and  feet. 
’Tis  for  a failing  life  they  lay 

Straw  in  the  street. 

Here,  where  the  pulses  of  London  beat, 
Someone  strives  with  the  Presence  grey  ; 
Ah,  is  it  victory  or  defeat  ? 

The  hurrying  people  go  their  way, 

Pause  and  jostle  and  pass  and  greet  ; 

For  life,  for  death,  are  they  treading,  say, 
Straw  in  the  street  ? 


2 6 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


Between  the  Showers . 


gETWEEN  the  showers  I went  my  way, 

The  glistening  street  was  bright  with 
flowers  ; 

It  seemed  that  March  had  turned  to  May 
Between  the  showers. 

Above  the  shining  roofs  and  towers 
The  blue  broke  forth  athwart  the  grey  ; 
Birds  carolled  in  their  leafless  bowers. 

Hither  and  thither,  swift  and  gay, 

The  people  chased  the  changeful  hours  ; 
And  you,  you  passed  and  smiled  that  day, 
Between  the  showers. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


27 


Out  of  Town, 


AUT  of  town  the  sky  was  bright  and  blue, 
Never  fog-cloud,  lowering,  thick,  was 
seen  to  frown  ; 

Nature  dons  a garb  of  gayer  hue, 

Out  of  town. 

Spotless  lay  the  snow  on  field  and  down, 

Pure  and  keen  the  air  above  it  blew  ; 

All  wore  peace  and  beauty  for  a crown. 

London  sky,  marred  by  smoke,  veiled  from  view, 
London  snow,  trodden  thin,  dingy  brown, 
Whence  that  strange  unrest  at  thoughts  of  you 
Out  of  town  ? 


28 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


i The  Piano-Organ. 

% 

\A  Y student-lamp  is  lighted, 

1 A The  books  and  papers  are  spread  ; 

A sound  comes  floating  upwards, 
Chasing  the  thoughts  from  my  head. 

I open  the  garret  window, 

Let  the  music  in  and  the  moon  ; 

See  the  woman  grin  for  coppers, 

While  the  man  grinds  out  the  tune. 

Grind  me  a dirge  or  a requiem, 

Or  a funeral-march  sad  and  slow, 

But  not,  O not,  that  waltz  tune 
I heard  so  long  ago. 

I stand  upright  by  the  window, 

The  moonlight  streams  in  wan  : — 

O God ! with  its  changeless  rise  and  fall 
The  tune  twirls  on  and  on. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


29 


London  Poets . 

(in  memoriam.) 

'THEY  trod  the  streets  and  squares  where 
1 now  I tread, 

With  weary  hearts,  a little  while  ago ; 

When,  thin  and  grey,  the  melancholy  snow 
Clung  to  the  leafless  branches  overhead ; 

Or  when  the  smoke- veiled  sky  grew  stormy-red 
In  autumn  ; with  a re-arisen  woe 
Wrestled,  what  time  the  passionate  spring 
winds  blow ; 

And  paced  scorched  stones  in  summer : — they 
are  dead. 

The  sorrow  of  their  souls  to  them  did  seem 
As  real  as  mine  to  me,  as  permanent. 

To-day,  it  is  the  shadow  of  a dream, 

The  half-forgotten  breath  of  breezes  spent. 

So  shall  another  soothe  his  woe  supreme — 

“ No  more  he  comes,  who  this  way  came  and 
went.” 


3° 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


The  Village  Garden . 

TO  E.  M.  S. 


II  ERE,  where  your  garden  fenced  about  and 
^ still  is, 

Here,  where  the  unmoved  summer  air  is 

. sweet 

With  mixed  delight  of  lavender  and  lilies, 
Dreaming  I linger  in  the  noontide  heat. 

Of  many  summers  are  the  trees  recorders, 

The  turf  a carpet  many  summers  wove ; 
Old-fashioned  blossoms  cluster  in  the  borders, 
Love-in-a-mist  and  crimson-hearted  clove. 

All  breathes  of  peace  and  sunshine  in  the 
present, 

All  tells  of  bygone  peace  and  bygone  sun, 

Of  fruitful  years  accomplished,  budding,  cres- 
cent, 

Of  gentle  seasons  passing  one  by  one. 


A London  Plane-Tree. 


31 


Fain  would  I bide,  but  ever  in  the  distance 
A ceaseless  voice  is  sounding  clear  and  low ; — 
The  city  calls  me  with  her  old  persistence, 

The  city  calls  me — I arise  and  go. 

Of  gentler  souls  this  fragrant  peace  is  guerdon  ; 

For  me,  the  roar  and  hurry  of  the  town, 
Wherein  more  lightly  seems  to  press  the  burden 
Of  individual  life  that  weighs  me  down. 

I leave  your  garden  to  the  happier  comers 
For  whom  its  silent  sweets  are  anodyne. 
Shall  I return  ? Who  knows,  in  other  summers 
The  peace  my  spirit  longs  for  maybe  mine? 


Ah  Love!  could  you  and  I with  Him  conspire 
To  grasp  this  sorry  Scheme  of  Things  entire. 
Would  not  we  shatter  it  to  bits—  and  then 
Re- mould  it  nearer  to  the  Heart' s Desire  ! 

Omar  Khayyam. 


Love,  Dreams,  & Death. 


B 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


3 5 


New  Love , New  Life . 


i. 

QHE,  who  so  long  has  lain 

^ Stone-stiff  with  folded  wings, 

Within  my  heart  again 

The  brown  bird  wakes  and  sings. 

Brown  nightingale,  whose  strain 
Is  heard  by  day,  by  night, 

She  sings  of  joy  and  pain, 

Of  sorrow  and  delight. 

II. 

’Tis  true, — in  other  days 
Have  I unbarred  the  door  ; 

He  knows  the  walks  and  ways — 
Love  has  been  here  before. 

Love  blest  and  love  accurst 
Was  here  in  days  long  past  ; 

This  time  is  not  the  first, 

But  this  time  is  the  last. 


36 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


Impotens . 


F I were  a woman  of  old, 

What  prayers  I would  pray  for 
you,  dear  ; 

My  pitiful  tribute  behold — 

Not  a prayer,  but  a tear. 


The  pitiless  order  of  things, 

Whose  laws  we  may  change  not 
nor  break, 

Alone  I could  face  it— it  wrings 
My  heart  for  your  sake. 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


37 


Youth  and  Love . 


I R/HAT  does  youth  know  of  love? 
* Little  enough,  I trow  ! 

He  plucks  the  myrtle  for  his  brow, 
For  his  forehead  the  rose. 

Nay,  but  of  love 
It  is  not  youth  who  knows. 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


38 


! The  Dream . 

Believe  me,  this  was  true  last  nighty 
Tho'  it  is  false  to-day . 

A.  M.  F.  ROBINSON. 

n FAIR  dream  to  my  chamber  flew  : 

Such  a crowd  of  folk  that  stirred, 
Jested,  fluttered  ; only  you, 

You  alone  of  all  that  band, 

Calm  and  silent,  spake  no  word. 

Only  once  you  neared  my  place, 

And  your  hand  one  moment’s  space 
Sought  the  fingers  of  my  hand  ; 

Your  eyes  flashed  to  mine  ; I knew 
All  was  well  between  us  two. 

* * * * * 

On  from  dream  to  dream  I past, 

But  the  first  sweet  vision  cast 
Mystic  radiance  o’er  the  last. 

sjc  ^ ^ ^ 

When  I woke  the  pale  night  lay 
Still,  expectant  of  the  day ; 

All  about  the  chamber  hung 
Tender  shade  of  twilight  gloom  ; 

The  fair  dream  hovered  round  me,  clun 
To  my  thought  like  faint  perfume ; — 
Like  sweet  odours,  such  as  cling 
To  the  void  flask,  which  erst  encloses 
Attar  of  rose  ; or  the  pale  string 
Of  amber  which  has  lain  with  roses. 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


39 


On  the  Threshold . 


GOD,  my  dream ! I dreamed  that  you 
^ were  dead  ; 

Your  mother  hung  above  the  couch  and  wept 
Whereon  you  lay  all  white,  and  garlanded 
With  blooms  of  waxen  whiteness.  I had  crept 
Up  to  your  chamber-door,  which  stood  ajar, 
And  in  the  doorway  watched  you  from  afar, 
Nor  dared  advance  to  kiss  your  lips  and  brow. 
I had  no  part  nor  lot  in  you,  as  now  ; 

Death  had  not  broken  between  us  the  old  bar  ; 
Nor  torn  from  out  my  heart  the  old,  cold  sense 
Of  your  misprision  and  my  impotence. 


40 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


The  Birch-Tree  at  Loschwitz. 


n T Loschwitz  above  the  city 
The  air  is  sunny  and  chill ; 

The  birch-trees  and  the  pine-trees 
Grow  thick  upon  the  hill. 

Lone  and  tall,  with  silver  stem, 

A birch-tree  stands  apart  ; 

The  passionate  wind  of  spring-time 
Stirs  in  its  leafy  heart. 

I lean  against  the  birch-tree, 

My  arms  around  it  twine  ; 

It  pulses,  and  leaps,  and  quivers, 
Like  a human  heart  to  mine. 

One  moment  I stand,  then  sudden 
Let  loose  mine  arms  that  cling : 

O God  ! the  lonely  hillside, 

The  passionate  wind  of  spring ! 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


41 


In  the  Night. 


/'"HR.UEL  ? I think  there  never  was  a cheating 
More  cruel,  thro’  all  the  weary  days  than 
this ! 

This  is  no  dream,  my  heart  kept  on  repeating, 
But  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss. 

Dreams  ? O,  I know  their  faces  — goodly 
seeming, 

Vaporous,  whirled  on  many-coloured 
wings  ; 

I have  had  dreams  before,  this  is  no  dreaming, 
But  daylight  gladness  that  the  daylight 
brings. 

What  ails  my  love ; what  ails  her  ? She  is 
paling  ; 

Faint  grows  her  face,  and  slowly  seems  to 
fade ! 

I cannot  clasp  her — stretch  out  unavailing 
My  arms  across  the  silence  and  the  shade, 


42 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


Borderland . 

n MI  waking,  am  I sleeping  ? 

**  As  the  first  faint  dawn  comes  creeping 
Thro’  the  pane,  I am  aware 
Of  an  unseen  presence  hovering, 

Round,  above,  in  the  dusky  air  : 

A downy  bird,  with  an  odorous  wing, 

That  fans  my  forehead,  and  sheds  perfume, 
As  sweet  as  love,  as  soft  as  death, 
Drowsy-slow  through  the  summer-gloom. 

My  heart  in  some  dream-rapture  saith, 

It  is  she.  Half  in  a swoon, 

I spread  my  arms  in  slow  delight. — 

O prolong,  prolong  the  night, 

For  the  nights  are  short  in  June ! 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


43 


At  Dawn. 


IN  the  night  I dreamed  of  you  ; 

* All  the  place  was  filled 
With  your  presence  ; in  my  heart 
The  strife  was  stilled. 

All  night  I have  dreamed  of  you  ; 

Now  the  morn  is  grey. — 

How  shall  I arise  and  face 
The  empty  day? 


44 


Love,  Dreams,  anb  Death. 


Last  Words . 


Dead  l airs  done  with ! 

K.  BROWNING. 


''THESE  blossoms  that  I bring, 
A This  song  that  here  I sing, 
These  tears  that  now  I shed, 

I give  unto  the  dead. 

There  is  no  more  to  be  done, 
Nothing  beneath  the  sun, 

All  the  long  ages  through, 
Nothing — by  me  for  you. 

The  tale  is  told  to  the  end  ; 
This,  ev’n,  I may  not  know — 
If  we  were  friend  and  friend, 

If  we  were  foe  and  foe. 

All's  done  with  utterly,  . 

All's  done  with.  Death  to  me 
Was  ever  Death  indeed  ; 

To  me  no  kindly  creed 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


45 


Consolatory  was  given. 

You  were  of  earth,  not  Heaven.  . . . 
This  dreary  day,  things  seem 
Vain  shadows  in  a dream, 

Or  some  strange,  pictured  show  ; 
And  mine  own  tears  that  flow, 

My  hidden  tears  that  fall, 

The  vainest  of  them  all. 


46 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


June . 


I AST  June  I saw  your  face  three  times 
^ Three  times  I touched  your  hand; 
Now,  as  before,  May  month  is  o’er, 

And  June  is  in  the  land. 

O many  Junes  shall  come  and  go, 
Flow’r-footed  o’er  the  mead  ; 

O many  Junes  for  me,  to  whom 
Is  length  of  days  decreed. 

There  shall  be  sunlight,  scent  of  rose, 
Warm  mist  of  summer  rain  ; 

Only  this  change — I shall  not  look 
Upon  your  face  again. 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


47 


A Reminiscence . 


T T is  so  long  gone  by,  and  yet 
How  clearly  now  I see  it  all  1 
The  glimmer  of  your  cigarette, 

The  little  chamber,  narrow  and  tall. 

Perseus  ; your  picture  in  its  frame  ; 

(How  near  they  seem  and  yet  how  far !) 
The  blaze  of  kindled  logs  ; the  flame 
Of  tulips  in  a mighty  jar. 

Florence  and  spring-time : surely  each 
Glad  things  unto  the  spirit  saith. 

Why  did  you  lead  me  in  your  speech 
To  these  dark  mysteries  of  death? 


48 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


The  Sequel  to  “ A Reminiscence.” 


XT OT  in  the  street  and  not  in  the  square, 

1 ^ The  street  and  square  where  you  went 
and  came  ; 

With  shuttered  casement  your  house  stands 
bare, 

Men  hush  their  voice  when  they  speak  your 
name. 

I,  too,  can  play  at  the  vain  pretence, 

Can  feign  you  dead  ; while  a voice  sounds 
clear 

In  the  inmost  depths  of  my  heart : Go  hence, 

Go,  find  your  friend  who  is  far  from  here. 

Not  here,  but  somewhere  where  I can  reach ! 

Can  a man  with  motion,  hearing  and  sight, 

And  a thought  that  answered  my  thought  and 
speech, 

Be  utterly  lost  and  vanished  quite  ? 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


49 


Whose  hand  was  warm  in  my  hand  last 
week  ? . . . 

My  heart  beat  fast  as  I neared  the  gate — 

Was  it  this  I had  come  to  seek, 

“ A stone  that  stared  with  your  name  and 
date ; ” 

A hideous,  turfless,  fresh-made  mound  ; 

A silence  more  cold  than  the  wind  that  blew  ? 

What  had  I lost,  and  what  had  I found  ? 

My  flowers  that  mocked  me  fell  to  the 
ground — 

Then,  and  then  only,  my  spirit  knew. 


So 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


In  the  Mile  End  Road. 


TJ  OW  like  her  ! But  ’tis  she  herself, 

*■  * Comes  up  the  crowded  street, 
How  little  did  I think,  the  morn, 

My  only  love  to  meet  1 

Whose  else  that  motion  and  that  mien  ? 

Whose  else  that  airy  tread  ? 

For  one  strange  moment  I forgot 
My  only  love  was  dead. 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


Si 


Contradictions. 


XT OW,  even,  I cannot  think  it  true, 

*■  ^ My  friend,  that  there  is  no  more  you. 
Almost  as  soon  were  no  more  I, 

Which  were,  of  course,  absurdity  ! 

Your  place  is  bare,  you  are  not  seen, 

Your  grave,  I’m  told,  is  growing  green  ; 
And  both  for  you  and  me,  you  know, 
There’s  no  Above  and  no  Below. 

That  you  are  dead  must  be  inferred, 

And  yet  my  thought  rejects  the  word. 


52 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


Twilight . 


QO  Mary  died  last  night ! To-day 
^ The  news  has  travelled  here. 

And  Robert  died  at  Michaelmas, 

And  Walter  died  last  year. 

I went  at  sunset  up  the  lane, 

I lingered  by  the  stile ; 

I saw  the  dusky  fields  that  stretched 
Before  me  many  a mile. 

I leaned  against  the  stile,  and  thought 
Of  her  whose  soul  had  fled. — 

I knew  that  years  on  years  must  pass 
Or  e’er  I should  be  dead. 


Love,  Dreams,  and  Death. 


53 


In  September. 


% 


'FHE  sky  is  silver-grey  ; the  long 
A Slow  waves  caress  the  shore. — 

On  such  a day  as  this  I have  been  glad, 
Who  shall  be  glad  no  more. 


1 sent  my  Soul  through  the  Invisible 
Some  letter  of  that  After-life  to  spell ; 

A nd  by  and  by  my  Soul  returned  to  me. 

And  answered,  ‘ ‘/ Myself  am  Heaven  and  Hell." 

Omar  KhayyAm 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


57 


The  Old  House. 

T N through  the  porch  and  up  the  silent  stair  ; 

1 Little  is  changed,  I know  so  well  the 
ways  ; — 

Here,  the  dead  came  to  meet  me  ; it  was  there 
The  dream  was  dreamed  in  unforgotten  days. 

But  who  is  this  that  hurries  on  before, 

A flitting  shade  the  brooding  shades 
among  ? — 

She  turned, — I saw  her  face, — O God,  it  wore 
The  face  I used  to  wear  when  I was  young  ! 

I thought  my  spirit  and  my  heart  were  tamed 
To  deadness  ; dead  the  pangs  that  agonise. 
The  old  grief  springs  to  choke  me, — I am 
shamed 

Before  that  little  ghost  with  eager  eyes. 

O turn  away,  let  her  not  see,  not  know ! 

How  should  she  bear  it,  how  should 
understand  ? 

O hasten  down  the  stairway,  haste  and  go, 
And  leave  her  dreaming  in  the  silent  land. 

c 


S3 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


'Lohengrin. 


§* 


F)  ACX  to  the  mystic  shore  beyond  the  main 
The  mystic  craft  has  sped,  and  left  no 
trace. 

Ah,  nevermore  may  she  behold  his  face, 

Nor  touch  his  hand,  nor  hear  his  voice  again  ! 

With  hidden  front  she  crouches  ; all  in  vain 

The  proffered  balm.  A vessel  nears  the 
place  ; 

They  bring  her  young,  lost  brother  ; see  her 
strain 

The  new-found  nursling  in  a close  embrace. 


God,  we  have  lost  Thee  with  much  questioning. 

In  vain  we  seek  Thy  trace  by  sea  and  land, 

And  in  Thine  empty  fanes  where  no  men  sing. 

What  shall  we  do  through  all  the  weary 
days  ? 

Thus  wail  we  and  lament.  Our  eyes  we 
raise, 

And,  lo,  our  Brother  with  an  outstretched 
hand ! 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


59 


Alma  Mater. 


A haunted  town  thou  art  to  me. 

ANDREW  LANG. 


'T'O-DAY  in  Florence  all  the  air 
1 Is  soft  with  spring,  with  sunlight  fair  ; 
In  the  tail  street  gay  folks  are  met  ; 

Duomo  and  Tower  gleam  overhead, 

Like  jewels  in  the  city  set, 

Fair-hued  and  many-faceted. 

Against  the  old  grey  stones  are  piled 
February  violets,  pale  and  sweet, 

Whose  scent  of  earth  in  woodland  wild 
Is  wafted  up  and  down  the  street. 

The  city’s  heart  is  glad  ; my  own 
Sits  lightly  on  its  bosom's  thro?ie. 

* * * * * * * 

Why  is  it  that  I see  to-day, 

Imaged  as  clear  as  in  a dream, 

A.  little  city  far  away, 

A churlish  sky,  a sluggish  stream, 


6o 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


Tall  clustering  trees  and  gardens  fair, 

Dark  birds  that  circle  in  the  air, 

Grey  towers  and  fanes  ; on  either  hand, 
Stretches  of  wind-swept  meadow-land  ? 

******* 

Oh,  who  can  sound  the  human  breast  ? 
And  this  strange  truth  must  be  confessed 
That  city  do  I love  the  best 
Wherein  my  heart  was  heaviest ! 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


In  the  Black  Forest. 

T LAY  beneath  the  pine  trees, 

And  looked  aloft,  where,  through 
The  dusky,  clustered  tree-tops, 
Gleamed  rent,  gay  rifts  of  blue. 

I shut  my  eyes,  an<J  a fancy 
Fluttered  my  sense  around  : 

“I  lie  here  dead  and  buried, 

And  this  is  churchyard  ground. 

“ I am  at  rest  for  ever  ; 

Ended  the  stress  and  strife.” 
Straight  I fell  to  and  sorrowed 
For  the  pitiful  past  life. 

Right  wronged,  and  knowledge  wasted 
Wise  labour  spurned  for  ease  ; 

The  sloth  and  the  sin  and  the  failure 
Did  I grow  sad  for  these  ? 

They  had  made  me  sad  so  often  : 

Not  now  they  made  me  sad  ; 

My  heart  was  full  of  sorrow 
For  joy  it  never  had. 


6 2 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


Captivity, 

m 

'THE  lion  remembers  the  forest, 

The  lion  in  chains  ; 

To  the  bird  that  is  captive  a vision 
Of  woodland  remains. 

One  strains  with  his  strength  at  the  fetter, 
In  impotent  rage  ; • 

One  flutters  in  flights  of  a moment, 

And  beats  at  the  cage. 

If  the  lion  were  loosed  from  the  fetter, 

To  wander  again  ; 

He  would  seek  the  wide  silence  and  shadow 
Of  his  jungle  in  vain. 

He  would  rage  in  his  fury,  destroying  ; 

Let  him  rage,  let  him  roam ! 

Shall  he  traverse  the  pitiless  mountain, 

Or  swim  through  the  foam  ? 

If  they  opened  the  cage  and  the  casement, 
And  the  bird  flew  away  ; 

He  would  come  back  at  evening,  heartbroken, 
A captive  for  aye. 


Moods  and  Thoughts.  63 

Would  come  if  his  kindred  had  spared  him, 
Free  birds  from  afar — 

There  was  wrought  what  is  stronger  than  iron 
In  fetter  and  bar. 

I cannot  remember  my  country, 

The  land  whence  I came  ; 

Whence  they  brought  me  and  chained  me 
and  made  me 
Nor  wild  thing  nor  tame. 

This  only  I know  of  my  country, 

This  only  repeat : — 

It  was  free  as  the  forest,  and  sweeter 
Than  woodland  retreat. 

When  the  chain  shall  at  last  be  broken, 
The  window  set  wide  ; 

And  I step  in  the  largeness  and  freedom 
Of  sunlight  outside  ; 

Shall  I wander  in  vain  for  my  country  ? 
Shall  I seek  and  not  find  ? 

Shall  I cry  for  the  bars  that  encage  me, 

The  fetters  that  bind  ? 


64 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


The  Two  Terrors. 


TWO  terrors  fright  my  soul  by  night  and 
A day : 

The  first  is  Life,  and  with  her  come  the  years ; 
A weary,  winding  train  of  maidens  they, 
With  forward-fronting  eyes,  too  sad  for  tears; 
Upon  whose  kindred  faces,  blank  and  grey, 
The  shadow  of  a kindred  woe  appears. 

Death  is  the  second  terror  ; who  shall  say 
What  form  beneath  the  shrouding  mantle 
nears  ? 

Which  way  she  turn,  my  soul  finds  no  relief, 
My  smitten  soul  may  not  be  comforted  ; 
Alternately  she  swings  from  grief  to  grief, 
And,  poised  between  them,  sways  from  dread 
to  dread. 

For  there  she  dreads  because  she  knows ; 
and  here, 

Because  she  knows  not,  inly  faints  with  fear. 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


65 


The  Promise  of  Sleep. 


Put  the  sweet  thoughts  from  out  thy  mind, 
The  dreams  from  out  thy  breast ; 

No  joy  for  thee — but  thou  shalt  find 
Thy  rest. 


ALL  day  I could  not  work  for  woe, 
I could  not  work  nor  rest  ; 

The  trouble  drove  me  to  and  fro, 
Like  a leaf  on  the  storm’s  breast. 

Night  came  and  saw  my  sorrow  cease  ; 

Sleep  in  the  chamber  stole  ; 

Peace  crept  about  my  limbs,  and  peace 
Fell  on  my  stormy  soul. 

And  now  I think  of  only  this, — 
How  I again  may  woo 
The  gentle  sleep — who  promises 
That  death  is  gentle  too. 


66 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


The  Last  Judgment, 

m 

I K/ITH  beating  heart  and  lagging  feet, 

Lord,  I approach  the  Judgment-seat. 
All  bring  hither  the  fruits  of  toil, 

Measures  of  wheat  and  measures  of  oil  ; 

Gold  and  jewels  and  precious  wine  ; 

No  hands  bare  like  these  hands  of  mine. 

The  treasure  I have  nor  weighs  nor  gleams  : 
Lord,  I can  bring  you  only  dreams. 

In  days  of  spring,  when  my  blood  ran  high, 
I lay  in  the  grass  and  looked  at  the  sky, 

And  dreamed  that  my  love  lay  by  my  side— 
My  love  was  false,  and  then  she  died. 

All  the  heat  of  the  summer  through, 

I dreamed  she  lived,  that  her  heart  was  true 
Throughout  the  hours  of  the  day  I slept, 
But  woke  in  the  night,  at  times,  and  wept. 


Moods  and  Thoughts.  67 

The  nights  and  days,  they  went  and  came, 

I lay  in  shadow  and  dreamed  of  fame  ; 

And  heard  men  passing  the  lonely  place, 
Who  marked  me  not  and  my  hidden  face. 

My  strength  waxed  faint,  my  hair  grew  grey; 
Nothing  but  dreams  by  night  and  day. 
Some  men  sicken,  with  wine  and  food  ; 

I starved  on  dreams,  and  found  them  good. 

* * * * * * 

This  is  the  tale  I have  to  tell — 

Show  the  fellow  the  way  to  hell. 


68 


Moods  and  Thoughts 


Felo  de  Se. 


WITH  APOLOGIES  TO  MR.  SWINBURNE. 


rj'OR  repose  I have  sighed  and  have  struggled ; 

1 have  sigh’d  and  have  struggled  in  vain  ; 

I am  held  in  the  Circle  of  Being  and  caught 
in  the  Circle  of  Pain. 

I was  wan  and  weary  with  life  ; my  sick  soul 
yearned  for  death  ; 

I was  weary  of  women  and  war  and  the  sea 
and  the  wind’s  wild  breath  ; 

I cull’d  sweet  poppies  and  crush’d  them,  the 
blood  ran  rich  and  red  : — 

And  I cast  it  in  crystal  chalice  and  drank  of  it 
till  I was  dead. 

And  the  mould  of  the  man  was  mute,  pulseless 
in  ev’ry  part, 

The  long  limbs  lay  on  the  sand  with  an  eagle 
eating  the  heart. 


Moods  and  Thoughts.  69 

Repose  for  the  rotting  head  and  peace  for  the 
putrid  breast, 

But  for  that  which  is  “I”  indeed  the  gods 
have  decreed  no  rest  ; 

No  rest  but  an  endless  aching,  a sorrow  which 
grows  amain  : — 

I am  caught  in  the  Circle  of  Being  and  held 
in  the  Circle  of  Pain. 

Bitter  indeed  is  Life,  and  bitter  of  Life  the 
breath, 

But  give  me  life  and  its  ways  and  its  men,  if 
this  be  Death. 

Wearied  I once  of  the  Sun  and  the  voices 
which  clamour’d  around  : 

Give  them  me  back — in  the  sightless  depths 
there  is  neither  light  nor  sound. 

Sick  is  my  soul,  and  sad  and  feeble  and  faint 
as  it  felt 

When  (far,  dim  day)  in  the  fair  flesh-fane  of 
the  body  it  dwelt. 

But  then  I could  run  to  the  shore,  weeping 
and  weary  and  weak  ; 

See  the  waves’  blue  sheen  and  feel  the  breath 
of  the  breeze  on  my  cheek  : 

Could  wail  with  the  wailing  wind ; strike 
sharply  the  hands  in  despair  ; 


70 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


Could  shriek  with  the  shrieking  blast,  grow 
frenzied  and  tear  the  hair  ; 

Could  fight  fierce  fights  with  the  foe  or  clutch 
at  a human  hand  ; 

And  weary  could  lie  at  length  on  the  soft, 
sweet,  saffron  sand 

I have  neither  a voice  nor  hands,  nor  any 
friend  nor  a foe  ; 

I am  I — -just  a Pulse  of  Pain — I am  I,  that  is 
all  I know. 

For  Life,  and  the  sickness  of  Life,  and  Death 
and  desire  to  die  ; — 

They  have  passed  away  like  the  smoke,  here 
is  nothing  but  Pain  and  I. 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


7 1 


The  Lost  Friend. 


The  people  take  the  thing  of  course , 

They  marvel  not  to  see 
This  strayige , unnatural  divorce 
Betwixt  delight  and  me. 

T KNOW  the  face  of  sorrow,  and  I know 
1 Her  voice  with  all  its  varied  cadences  ; 
Which  way  she  turns  and  treads  ; how  at  her 
ease 

Thinks  fit  her  dreary  largess  to  bestow. 

Where  sorrow  long  abides,  some  be  that  grow 
To  hold  her  dear,  but  I am  not  of  these  ; 

Joy  is  my  friend,  not  sorrow  ; by  strange  seas, 
In  some  far  land  we  wandered,  long  ago. 

O faith,  long  tried,  that  knows  no  faltering  ! 
O vanished  treasure  of  her  hands  and  face  ! — 
Beloved — to  whose  memory  I cling, 
Unmoved  within  my  heart  she  holds  her  place. 

And  never  shall  I hail  that  other  “friend,” 
Who  yet  shall  dog  my  footsteps  to  the  end. 


7 2 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


Cambridge  in  the  Long. 


\ A /HERE  drowsy  sound  of  college-chimes 
* Across  the  air  is  blown, 

And  drowsy  fragrance  of  the  limes, 

I lie  and  dream  alone. 

A dazzling  radiance  reigns  o’er  all — 

O’er  gardens  densely  green, 

O’er  old  grey  bridges  and  the  small, 

Slow  flood  which  slides  between. 

This  is  the  place ; it  is  not  strange, 

But  known  of  old  and  dear. — 

What  went  I forth  to  seek  ? The  change 
Is  mine  ; why  am  I here  ? 

Alas,  in  vain  I turned  away, 

I fled  the  town  in  vain  ; 

The  strenuous  life  of  yesterday 
Calleth  me  back  again. 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


73 


And  was  it  peace  I came  to  seek  ? 

Yet  here,  where  memories  throng, 

Ev’n  here,  I know  the  past  is  weak, 

I know  the  present  strong. 

This  drowsy  fragrance,  silent  heat, 

Suit  not  my  present  mind, 

Whose  eager  thought  goes  out  to  meet 
The  life  it  left  behind. 

Spirit  with  sky  to  change  ; such  hope, 

An  idle  one  we  know  ; 

Unship  the  oars,  make  loose  the  rope, 
Push  off  the  boat  and  go.  . . . 

Ah,  would  what  binds  me  could  have  been 
Thus  loosened  at  a touch  ! 

This  pain  of  living  is  too  keen, 

Of  loving,  is  too  much. 


74 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


To  Vernon  Lee. 


Bellosguardo,  when  the  year  was  young, 
We  wandered,  seeking  for  the  daffodil 
And  dark  anemone,  whose  purples  fill 
The  peasant’s  plot,  between  the  corn-shoots 
sprung. 

Over  the  grey,  low  wall  the  olive  flung 
Her  deeper  greyness  ; far  off,  hill  on  hill 
Sloped  to  the  sky,  which,  pearly-pale  and  still, 
Above  the  large  and  luminous  landscape  hung. 

A snowy  blackthorn  flowered  beyond  my 
reach ; 

You  broke  a branch  and  gave  it  to  me  there  ; 
I found  for  you  a scarlet  blossom  rare. 

Thereby  ran  on  of  Art  and  Life  our  speech  ; 
And  of  the  gifts  the  gods  had  given  to  each — 
Hope  unto  you,  and  unto  me  Despair. 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


75 


I he  Old  Poet. 


T WILL  be  glad  because  it  is  the  Spring  ; 

1 I will  forget  the  winter  in  my  heart — 
Dead  hopes  and  withered  promise  ; and  will 
wring 

A little  joy  from  life  ere  life  depart. 

For  spendthrift  youth  with  passion-blinded 
eyes, 

Stays  not  to  see  how  woods  and  fields  are 
bright  ; 

He  hears  the  phantom  voices  call,  he  flies 
Upon  the  track  of  some  unknown  delight. 

To  him  the  tender  glory  of  the  May, 

White  wonder  of  the  blossom,  and  the  clear, 
Soft  green  of  leaves  that  opened  yesterday, 
This  only  say  : Forward,  my  friend,  not  here ! 

They  breathe  no  other  messages  than  this, 
They  have  no  other  meaning  for  his  heart  j 
Unto  his  troubled  sense  they  tell  of  bliss, 
Which  make,  themselves,  of  bliss  the  better 
part. 


76 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


Yea,  joy  is  near  him,  tho’  he  does  not  know  ; 

Her  unregarded  shape  is  at  his  side, 

Her  unheard  voice  is  whispering  clear  and 
low, 

Whom,  resting  never,  seeks  he  far  and  wide. 

So  once  it  was  with  us,  my  heart ! To-day 
We  will  be  glad  because  the  leaves  are  green, 
Because  the  fields  are  fair  and  soft  with  May, 
Nor  think  on  squandered  springtimes  that 
have  been. 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


77 


On  the  Wye  in  May. 


VT  OW  is  the  perfect  moment  of  the  year. 

1 ^ Half  naked  branches,  half  a mist  of 
green, 

Vivid  and  delicate  the  slopes  appear  ; 

The  cool,  soft  air  is  neither  fierce  nor  keen, 

And  in  the  temperate  sun  we  feel  no  fear  ; 

Of  all  the  hours  which  shall  be  and  have 
been, 

It  is  the  briefest  as  it  is  most  dear, 

It  is  the  dearest  as  the  shortest  seen. 

0 it  was  best,  beloved,  at  the  first. — 

Our  hands  met  gently,  and  our  meeting 
sight 

Was  steady  ; on  our  senses  scare  had  burst 
The  faint,  fresh  fragrance  of  the  new 
delight 

1 seek  that  clime,  unknown,  without  a name, 
Where  first  and  best  and  last  shall  be  the 


same. 


78 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


Oh , is  it  Love  ? 


IS  it  Love  or  is  it  Fame, 

This  thing  for  which  I sigh  ? 

Or  has  it  then  no  earthly  name 
For  men  to  call  it  by  ? 

I know  not  what  can  ease  my  pains, 
Nor  what  it  is  I wish  ; 

The  passion  at  my  heart-strings  strains 
Like  a tiger  in  a leash. 


Moods  and  Thoughts. 


79 


In  the  Nower. 


TO  J.  DE  P. 


F\EEP  in  the  grass  outstretched  I lie, 
Motionless  on  the  hill ; 

Above  me  is  a cloudless  sky, 

Around  me  all  is  still  : 

There  is  no  breath,  no  sound,  no  stir, 
The  drowsy  peace  to  break  ; 

I close  my  tired  eyes — it  were 
So  simple  not  to  wake. 


8o 


Moods  and  Thoughts, 


The  End  of  the  Day. 

TO  B.  T. 

F^EAD-TIRED,  dog-tired,  as  the  vivid  day 
Fails  and  slackens  and  fades  a wav. — 
The  sky  that  was  so  blue  before 
With  sudden  clouds  is  shrouded  o’er. 
Swiftly,  stilly  the  mists  uprise, 

Till  blurred  and  grey  the  landscape  lies. 

* * * * * * 

All  day  we  have  plied  the  oar  ; all  day 
Eager  and  keen  have  said  our  say 
On  life  and  death,  on  love  and  art, 

On  good  or  ill  at  Nature’s  heart. 

Now,  grown  so  tired,  we  scarce  can  lift 
The  lazy  oars,  but  onward  drift. 

And  the  silence  is  only  stirred 
Here  and  there  by  a broken  word. 

sj<  >{?  *j<  »)c 

O,  sweeter  far  than  strain  and  stress 
Is  the  slow,  creeping  weariness. 


Moods  and  Thoughts.  8i 

And  better  far  than  thought  I find 
The  drowsy  blankness  of  the  mind. 

More  than  all  joys  of  soul  or  sense 
Is  this  divine  indifference  ; 

Where  grief  a shadow  grows  to  be, 

And  peace  a possibility. 


Odds  and  Ends. 


Odds  and  Ends. 


85 


A W t all  Flower . 


I lounge  in  the  doorway  and  languish  in  vain 
While  Tom , Dick  and  Harry  are  dancing  with  Jane 


\h  Y spirit  rises  to  the  music’s  beat ; 

1 1 There  is  a leaden  fiend  lurks  in  my 
feet ! 

To  move  unto  your  motion,  Love,  were  sweet. 

Somewhere,  I think,  some  other  where,  not 
here, 

In  other  ages,  on  another  sphere, 

I danced  with  you,  and  you  with  me,  my  dear. 

In  perfect  motion  did  our  bodies  sway, 

To  perfect  music  that  was  heard  alway  ; 
Woe’s  me,  that  am  so  dull  of  foot  to-day  ! 

To  move  unto  your  motion,  Love,  were  sweet; 
My  spirit  rises  to  the  music’s  beat — 

But,  ah,  the  leaden  demon  in  my  feet ! 


86 


Odds  and  Ends. 


Fhe  First  Extra. 

A WALTZ  SONG. 


fA  SWAY,  and  swing,  and  sway, 

And  swing,  and  sway,  and  swing 
Ah  me,  what  bliss  like  unto  this, 

Can  days  and  daylight  bring  ? 


A rose  beneath  your  feet 
Has  fallen  from  my  head  ; 

Its  odour  rises  sweet, 

All  crushed  it  lies,  and  dead. 

O Love  is  like  a rose, 

Fair-hued,  of  fragrant  breath  ; 

A tender  flow’r  that  lives  an  hour, 
And  is  most  sweet  in  death. 


O swing,  and  sway,  and  swing, 
And  rise,  and  sink,  and  fall ! 
There  is  no  bliss  like  unto  this, 
This  is  the  best  of  all. 


Odds  and  Ends 


87 


At  a Dinner  Party. 


\ X /ITH  fruit  and  flowers  the  board  is  deckt, 
* The  wine  and  laughter  flow  ; 

I’ll  not  complain — could  one  expect 
So  dull  a world  to  know  ? 

You  look  across  the  fruit  and  flowers, 

My  glance  your  glances  find. — 

It  is  our  secret,  only  ours, 

Since  all  the  world  is  blind. 


88 


Odds  and  Ends 


Philosophy. 

% 


r*RE  all  the  world  had  grown  so  drear, 
When  I was  young  and  you  were  here, 
’Mid  summer  roses  in  summer  weather, 
What  pleasant  times  we’ve  had  together ! 

We  were  not  Phyllis,  simple-sweet, 

And  Corydon  ; we  did  not  meet 
By  brook  or  meadow,  but  among 
A Philistine  and  flippant  throng 

Which  much  we  scorned  ; (less  rigorous 
It  had  no  scorn  at  all  for  us  !) 

How  many  an  eve  of  sweet  July, 

Heedless  of  Mrs.  Grundy’s  eye, 

We’ve  scaled  the  stairway’s  topmost  height, 
And  sat  there  talking  half  the  night  ; 

And,  gazing  on  the  crowd  below, 

Thanked  Fate  and  Heaven  that  made  us  so; — • 


Odds  and  Ends. 


89 


To  hold  the  pure  delights  of  brain 
Above  light  loves  and  sweet  champagne. 
For,  you  and  I,  we  did  eschew 
The  egoistic  “I”  and  “you;” 

And  all  our  observations  ran 
On  Art  and  Letters,  Life  and  Man. 

Proudly  we  sat,  we  two,  on  high, 

Throned  in  our  Objectivity ; 

Scarce  friends,  not  lovers  (each  avers), 

But  sexless,  safe  Philosophers. 

Jji  % * * * 

Dear  Friend,  you  must  not  deem  me  light 
If,  as  I lie  and  muse  to-night, 

I give  a smile  and  not  a sigh 
To  thoughts  of  our  Philosophy. 


9° 


Odds  and  Ends. 


A Game  of  Lawn  Tennis. 


^ A /HAT  wonder  that  I should  be  dreaming 
Out  here  in  the  garden  to-day  ? 

The  light  through  the  leaves  is  streaming, — 
Paulina  cries , “ Play  ! " 

The  birds  to  each  other  are  calling, 

The  freshly-cut  grasses  smell  sweet ; 

To  Teddy's  dismay , comes  falling 
The  ball  at  my  feet. 

‘‘  Your  stroke  should  be  over , not  under  ! " 

“ But  that's  such  a difficult  way  ! " 

The  place  is  a springtide  wonder 
Of  lilac  and  may; 

Of  lilac,  and  may,  and  laburnum, 

Of  blossom, — We'er  losing  the  set ! 

“ Those  volleys  of  Jenny's , — return  them  ; 

“ Stand  close  to  the  net  ! ” 

n'  sH 


Odds  and  Ends. 


91 


irou  are  so  fond  of  the  Maytime, 

My  friend,  far  away  ; 

Small  wonder  that  I should  be  dreaming 
Of  you  in  the  garden  to-day. 


I 


92 


Odds  and  Ends. 


To  E. 


'T'HE  mountains  in  fantastic  lines 

Sweep,  blue-white,  to  the  sky,  which 
shines 

Blue  as  blue  gems  ; athwart  the  pines 

The  lake  gleams  blue. 

We  three  were  here,  three  years  gone  by  ; 
Our  Poet,  with  fine-frenzied  eye, 

You,  steeped  in  learned  lore,  and  I, 

A poet  too. 

Our  Poet  brought  us  books  and  flowers, 

He  read  us  Faust ; he  talked  for  hours 
Philosophy  (sad  Schopenhauer’s), 

Beneath  the  trees  : 

And  do  you  mind  that  sunny  day, 

When  he,  as  on  the  sward  he  lay, 

Told  of  Lassalle  who  bore  away 

The  false  Louise  ? 


Odds  and  Ends. 


93 


Thrice-favoured  bard ! to  him  alone 
That  green  and  snug  retreat  was  shown, 
Where  to  the  vulgar  herd  unknown, 

Our  pens  we  plied. 

(For,  in  those  distant  days,  it  seems, 

We  cherished  sundry  idle  dreams, 

And  with  our  flowing  foolscap  reams 

The  Fates  defied.) 

And  after,  when  the  day  was  gone, 

And  the  hushed,  silver  night  came  on, 

He  showed  us  where  the  glow-worm  shone  ; — 

We  stooped  to  see. 

There,  too,  by  yonder  moon  we  swore 
Platonic  friendship  o’er  and  o’er  ; 

No  folk,  we  deemed,  had  been  before 

So  wise  and  free. 

sfc  sfc  * sfc  ^ 

And  do  I sigh  or  smile  to-day  ? 

Dead  love  or  dead  ambition,  say, 

Which  mourn  we  most  ? Not  much  we  weigh 

Platonic  friends. 


94 


Odds  and  Ends. 


On  you  the  sun  is  shining  free  ; 

Our  Poet  sleeps  in  Italy, 

Beneath  an  alien  sod  ; on  me 

The  cloud  descends. 


